


The Good Life

by oonaseckar



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Manderley, Rebecca - Freeform, daphne du maurier - Freeform, echoes of manderley, walkin, walkins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:00:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21794173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oonaseckar/pseuds/oonaseckar
Summary: Tahani's feeling a deep unease, these past few months.  She is -- if you're a complete twonk and want to express it that way -- ill at ease in her own skin.If it actuallyishers.  The pelt, I mean.Manderley comes to The Good Place, with appropriate hauntings, storms and ghostly murmurs.  Spooky, people.
Relationships: Chidi Anagonye & Eleanor Shellstrop, Chidi Anagonye/Eleanor Shellstrop, Jianyu Li | Jason Mendoza/Janet (The Good Place), Tahani Al-Jamil & Eleanor Shellstrop, Tahani Al-Jamil & Jianyu Li | Jason Mendoza, Tahani Al-Jamil/Eleanor Shellstrop
Kudos: 8





	1. an invention that bottles up memory

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title is Daphne Du Maurier.

Last night I had the dream again and I fled to the arms of the only friend I have.

The dream was much as ever: blood everywhere, and angry eyes sweeping up out of the darkness to _eat me up._ A blasting roar, that stretched my eardrums.

In fact there was nothing in there to account for the horror it brought out of me, except the horror itself. The horror was in the realness: the insistence of my mind, within the dream, that this was in fact _no dream._

That someone was _out to get me._

It had been going on for weeks, and the strain was beginning to show. Distorted sleep patterns left me dopey and unable to concentrate at work: well, at organizing my latest pet project, and managing the guest list for the celebrity pet auction - so much more fun than a slave auction, jeweled collars included, Harry Styles the prime attraction, your own play-puppy for an afternoon!

And even that couldn't snap me out of it. Anxiety destroyed my appetite: I had lost half a stone since it began, and was beginning to consider if I needed a therapist. Or perhaps just better tranquilizers.

But now at 3 a.m., shivering in the kitchen and not even knowing why: afraid, but not knowing of what –- I decided that this really was too much. Enough. I needed help of some kind, and over the past few days my friend had expressed concern several times.

“Tahani, I'm getting a little worried,’ he’d said to me at lunchtime only yesterday. "And you know what happens when I'm worried. Talk to my gastroenterologist - believe me, you don't want to give me another stomach-ache. Come on, tell me what’s wrong. Tahani, I can tell there’s _something_. Let it go. Don’t hug it to yourself. Do I need to remind you about Socrates' dicta on the duty of the citizen to the wider polis, and relate it to friendship and emotional authenticity?"

Chidi's kind dark eyes, so alertly eager to educate and inform where other women were concerned, had a softer gentleness as he gazed at me. Normally my response would have been equally fond, and temperate. (Oh, terribly platonic. Chidi was an absolute darling: and an academic, practically scrambling by his fingertips to get up into the Z-list as far as social cachet went. _Not_ my style, my love.)

But that was just another thing that had changed in recent weeks.


	2. it's easier to dismiss ghosts in the daylight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chidi, Tahani's straight GBF. Or so it has been, anyhow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Patricia Briggs.

That would be _crazy_ , of course. We're best pals! Pals, and only pals. Oh dear, I did seem to be repeating that to myself rather a lot, lately.

Even though he was a lovely, and very muscular chap, Chidi wasn't any more than a friend to me, not even in my imagination. Until now. And in a way that was strange: we were both _larrrrrrgely_ straight - _hm_ \- and he was a very attractive eligible gentleman. And yet he might as well have been the gay best friend every girl supposedly needs, right from the word go. He’d listened to tales of my celebrity suitors, held my hand through the excruciating publicity blast when my dear little sister Kamilah released her second album -- we’d got _uproariously_ drunk together. And never a hint of sexual tension, on either side.

Perhaps it was self-preservation on my part. We'd connected so strongly as friends, right from the first day I'd stopped dead in the middle of a shopping trip in Knightsbridge, and felt a strange urge carry my feet to a public lecture at the Royal Philosophical Society. (Most unlike me, darling! Simply inexplicable!) Was it worth the risk of throwing away our platonic bond, for the sake of a mere frisson and a little afternoon tupping, followed by delightful mini-snacks from Fortnum and Mason's?

Men come and go. _Famous_ men come, rather often, in my case. But profoundly wise philosophical mentors -- who are willing give up an afternoon to help a girl choose the right titfer for Ascot -- are rare birds, darlings.


	3. most people are other people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tahani goes to Chidi for advice. Doesn't everyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Oscar Wilde.

And it's _fine_ with me. Darlings, I'm never lacking for male attention! I have my _coterie_ \-- I have my _hommes_ _fatals_ \-- some may dent my heart a little, but none have truly captured it. One simply _waits_ , for the _coup de foudre,_ for that perfect specimen to sweep one off one's Louboutins.

Although I had begun to question, of late, if somehow I'd missed that particular flash of lightning. If it had actually happened some time ago, while I was busy re-arranging my social calendar...

It was only when I stood at Chidi's door, in the very early hours of the morning, that I began to doubt the wisdom of my actions. But by then it was too late: I’d already rung the bell.

I knew it was a mistake, when I opened the door and saw his face. There was just a split-second of dismay, before he wiped it away and quickly pulled me into a hug.

My heart sank. I pulled away quickly. "Chidi, I’m so terribly sorry to bother you at this time of night –- obviously it was a _complete_ mistake–-"

But the dear man silenced me, with a finger to my lips. "Tahani, do _not_ fret: now," he continued in businesslike tones, ushering me into his sparse, very utilitarian kitchen with a hand at my back, "just one moment, and I'll be all yours."

Darlings. _Promises_.

He disappeared, shutting the kitchen door quietly, and I rolled my eyes to myself. What a fool a girl can be, over a handsome, philosophically brilliant man. Even a sophisticated girl-about-town such as myself.

Of course, I knew what his absence was about. And I couldn’t resist opening the door, quiet as a _chic_ little mouse, to witness him ushering a glossy, pretty girl out of the flat, as she adjusted hastily donned clothing with a tight, angry face. She gave me a flashing glance as she left, and I _recognized_ her: one of the interns from the high society fashion magazine I'd put together, in my final year at Harvard. It folded after six issues -- due to pressure of mid-terms, rather than lack of funding, but most of the interns had gone on to great things in media. Connections, darling! A personal note to an editor, a discreet phone-call from _One_... Well, the ones not fired, _they_ went on to great things, at least.

How little things had changed since our college days, I thought. She had made a habit of shooting me dead with a glance back then, and here she was at the same game.


	4. not very sporting, to fire on an unarmed opponent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Tahani has a rival. Of course, she isn't interested in Chidi that way anyhow. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Blade Runner.

There were hissed words as Chidi dispensed with her company, and then a swiftly slammed door. Her doing, I fancied, not Chidi’s.

There was trouble in his face as he entered the kitchen, but it cleared as he turned to me, his brow uncreasing itself as he smiled.

And he didn’t say a word: just closed his arms around me, with a great deal of tenderness. I shivered, and then my eyes, tight and hot with the pressure of unshed tears, moistened.

How could Chidi always do that so easily? Early life with my parents has ensured that my grip on my emotions, my famously British stiff upper lip, is inviolate. Except around Chidi.

He rubbed my back, like a mother and a baby with colic, and that forced a gulping laugh out of me.

"Sorry," I mumbled vaguely. "I’m falling apart. What an absolute mess I am, Chidi. You were right."

"Ssh," he murmured, and passed a hand over my hair gently. "What are you sorry for, silly girl? Hm?"

Tears flowed more freely. He’d been calling me that for so long…

"Oh, you know," I said thickly, struggling to free a hand to wipe a runny nose. "You having to boot… hang on, I know the name… Caroline? … Caroline, out of bed. She can’t have been best pleased… not judging by the look on her face just now anyway. For turning up here with no real explanation…. Chidi, you’re always so kind to me…"


	5. lost in time, like tears in rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh, what's Chidi been up to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Blade Runner.

He shook me, very gently. "Actually, it’s Vicky…" I felt a little snort of laughter rocket through his hard, broad chest. "And you did me a favour… she’s been driving me crazy for the last two weeks… I was beginning to wonder how to get rid of her. She seems to be obsessed with you. You know each other, right? It's a little too weird."

I knew he was probably lying -- about being tired of Vicky, at least -- no-one could possibly argue that the girl was anything other than a psychologically-disordered freak. But I didn’t really care. It was so nice to hear. I had been a little possessive of Chidi from day one, a little encroaching upon his time and energies. When he needed them so much, his philosophical studies were so all-consuming, and professionally impressive. One girl after another had failed to understand, had misread the nature of my attachment to him.

But this descent upon him in the middle of the night, this displacement of the current ladyfriend like a cuckoo sucking up all the space in his life, this was a new departure. It was shameless, but I was suddenly ashamed.

I pulled away, and turned a little away from him. "I owe you an explanation,’ I said, with a little choke in my voice. "This is crazy, I think I’m having some kind of breakdown, it’s been going on for weeks now and look where it’s wound up. And it's not even about Kamilah! Chidi, you’re too forgiving. I’ve yanked you up out of bed at three in the morning and turfed your ladyfriend -- however odious -- out of the place. You should just show me the door, you would if you had any sense…." I could hear my voice breaking, and knew he could feel it too.


	6. [

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plotting and scheming, in the Good Place. Or is it the Good Place, after all?

Waking is misery, staying awake is torture, that's always and only the way it is. Tahani gropes for the alarm her parents gifted her -- a comment on her inability to be _punctual_ , for Kamilah's achievements, her awards. She fails to find it, and randomly slams her hand down, listening to the thudding rain of objects falling off the delicate antique nightstand. Until there's no more ringing.

No more.

In the bathroom mirror, she sees her own face, hates it. It's beautiful, and she hates it. Silently in the surgically-clean, lavishly-appointed bathroom. Out loud and screaming in her head. _Failure. Disappointment. Inadequate sibling. Bad daughter. Pretentious fool._

The litany of hate doesn't end there. That's just the beginning.

It seems a little more muted than usual, today. Perhaps the new pills are kicking in. The Harley Street psychologist did promise wonders, after all.

***

"Is this really the only way? You're sure?"

Michael sighs sorrowfully, and sweeps a hand out, indicating the stone cauldron before them, the bubbling mist that leads down into clarity, into the vision of another world. The _human_ world. "Her thoughts are so loud all the time. So negative! She's going to do something stupid, soon."

Eleanor winces. "Her life's so bad? It looks pretty good to me. And how do I know I'd even do any better?"


	7. ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor and Michael, cookin' up schemes.

Michael shrugs, regretfully. "It feels that bad, to her. Objectively speaking, it's not great. Maybe you could make a better fist of it. You seem pretty scrappy," he says, with an avuncular grin, patting her plaid-clad shoulder.

"And I'll cross his path again? Through this life?" Eleanor asks.

Michael's face shutters up, smooth and handsome in its craggy, distinguished way. Of course, he's an _angel_ , Eleanor thinks, a little resentful -- well, an architect, but really it's another word for the same thing. There are so many words, for what's going on here, in the bardo. 

These human anxieties must seem so petty to him. He's impervious -- infuriatingly impervious. "It's geographically favorable," he allows. "We make no guarantees. You _own_ your destiny, Eleanor: you create it by increments, day by day. It doesn't just descend upon you from on high."

And Eleanor feels helpless, unable to decide. "Is it just a matter of chance, statistics? Is it guaranteed to happen, or not to happen, and you're just not telling me? Give me something to _work_ with," she urges him.


	8. our fates are sealed.  but i think we have one move left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should she take on someone else's body, someone else's life? Roll the die, see what happens?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from The Good Place.

But he folds his arms, and smirks slightly. "That's the deal, Eleanor. Those are the terms. It's up to you."

Slow, checking once more. "Even if I do, he won't know me," she says. Asks.

A nod. "He won't know I'm..."

Oh, another nod. Implacable. "And I won't know him?"

"No. Also applicable to all your friends and associates. Even the chugger fellow, the one who tried to save you from the shopping carts."

"Fuck. What's the point?" It isn't the first time that Eleanor's despaired, but it feels like the worst. But isn't it the worst, every time?

Michael shrugs. "No-one's _making_ you do anything."

***

Maybe the drugs are working.


	9. Chapter 9

We’d shared a lot together, even in the little time we'd known one another. But being carried in Chidi’s arms into he living room was something… no, not entirely new. I did remember getting wrecked at a student ball in my second year at Harvard, with a chpa who later had some super supporting roles off-Broadway taking the glass out of my hand and slinging me over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. It hadn’t had quite the air of romance of Chidi's current posture, though.

Still his manner was businesslike as he deposited me on the sofa. ‘Stay there,’ he said, pointing at me sternly. ‘I’m making you coffee… I think you need it. Now just be quiet.’

That told me, properly, I thought. Yet there was something restful in not having to decide anything, or argue, or apologise any more… even if that left me free to consider my foolishness and fear further.


	10. Chapter 10

Chidi returned shortly with thick white builder’s mugs of black coffee, so strong as to be glutinous. Retrieving a hipflask from a drawer, he made mine Irish, though not his own, and I felt the fire as it burnt my throat.

‘You’ll never sleep…’ I objected, gesturing feebly towards his mug. He laughed.

‘It's too late to worry about that now,’ he pointed out. ‘Anyway, Tahani,’ he said, reaching out to stroke my cheek, ‘some things are more important. And you, my love, don’t look like you’ve had a decent night’s sleep in weeks.’

I knew full well how true it was. My reflection had been greeting me in the mirror for days now, haggard, with smudged blue shadows beneath its eyes. It was a look all very well for consumptive Lakeland poets, but less becoming on a spokesmodel, influencer and coast-to-coast 'It' girl.


	11. Chapter 11

I sipped and choked on scalding hot coffee. Leaning back on the couch, I gazed at him. “Chidi... I think I'm going crazy. You know how many times you've asked me these past couple of weeks what's wrong?”

He nodded, and patted my arm reassuringly. “It's been pretty clear, Tahani. You could have confided in me before now. It's not like I didn't know there was _something_ wrong.”

I nodded. “Well this isn't the first time I've been up raving and ranting at three a.m. Lately. In fact, lately it's every night, Chidi. I actually think I am going crazy... Chidi, I'm getting these weird dreams. They wake me up in the middle of the night.”

I paused, and he prompted me. “What dreams, Tahani?”

I couldn't get it out at first, and stumbled over the words. “ _Blood_. It's blood everywhere, it's all over me so I'm _sticky_ with it. And it's every night, _every goddamn night._ And Chidi. I don't think it's _my blood.._."


	12. Chapter 12

I couldn't get it out, and stumbled over the words. “Blood. It's blood everywhere, it's all over me so I'm sticky with it. And it's every night, every goddamn night, Chidi. I don't think it's my blood... I'm not injured. It's someone else's blood I'm bathing in, Chidi, and that's the horror of it. I feel such horror, when, I'm in the middle of it, and it feels so bloody real...” I shivered, and Chidi gripped my hand. There was a crease between his brows that bespoke concern. Perhaps for my sanity.

“Then there are the eyes...” I continued. I flashed an uneasy look at him. “They're black, and red, and Chidi, they're looking right at me... And I'm too afraid. Chidi, I'm so damn afraid, I dream this every night now, if I wake up then go back to sleep I dream it again. And when I wake up... I'm still afraid.”

I started to cry like an idiot. “It's just a stupid dream, for God's sake... Why am I so frightened? Chidi, do you think I'm losing my mind? Or just stupid, to be over-reacting this way?”

I suppose what I expected was reassurance. Or at the least, very gentle mockery... followed by reassurance. There was a moments' silence, and I looked up to see that Chidi's brow was still creased, and his eyes not on me but gazing out to the far distance, over at the bright lights of the city visible from the room-length windows of his city apartment.

“Chidi?” I prompted, a little timidly. Had I overstepped all bounds of friendship, finally?

It seemed as if his attention was recalled again, and his eyes cleared as they focused on me.

“Tahani, do you mind if I ask you a few questions about these dreams you're having?” he asked quietly.

“Sure, okay,” I said, puzzled. “But I don't see how it would be useful?”


End file.
